


Once More, With Feeling...

by Jacinta



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Foster Care, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Modern Era, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 07:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18846292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacinta/pseuds/Jacinta
Summary: Hamilton dies and gets to greet some old faces before God offers the whole Reviolutionary squad a second chance in a future era. Of course nothing is simple and life is fickle even when God isn't adjusting things for maximum entertainment so naturally Alexander finds himself unintentionally involved in a musical bearing his name. Jefferson is going to have an absolute fit, but at least his friends will be able to find his easily enough? Does he even want to meet them all again?





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> I admit, I am not 100% sure where this is going yet, and I've no scheduling ability but an obsessive nature so I can promise scattered updates fairly frequently provided nothing big comes up in life. If you've got anything in particular you want to see comment away and I'll fit it in if I can. Um, I'll also update the warnings and everything as I write, I'm not planning for anything explicit but I also have few plans so who knows, I go where the story beckons. Similarly I have no idea what relationships will form.

Washington is the first person Alexander sees on the other side, he looks sad but claps Alexander on the shoulder with a familiarity he’d refused to express in life.  
“Son, you can rest now,” Washington intones as his mother comes up and wraps an arm around his waist.

“My beautiful boy, you did well,” his mother whispers and Alexander feels like he might just cry which is something he continues to refuse to do in front of Washington, he didn’t cry before the man during war or the difficult years building government, he will not cry now. Washington laughs as though he’s aware of Alexander’s thoughts and steers him towards Laurens, he’s leading fellow soldiers in song, a hearty welcome indeed, even if some of the uniforms aren’t those of the Union there are clearly no hard feelings.

“Come! Have a drink and never regret it in the morning!” John yelled and the soldiers all cheered loudly. The rest of the night seemed to pass in meeting old faces anew and filling them in on his life, triumphs mostly, but as things quietened down a little he drew those closer to him aside and confided his mistakes. His mother slapped him for it, but she hugged him immediately after so Alexander figured that was more than he deserved, Phillip tried to duel him before Washington reminded them both they were already dead, because of duels, and he’d have to either sulk like a child or man up and admit his disappointment but move on. Philip decided that since his mum hadn’t done the killing he could still be close to his dad.

As Alexander began to realise that the lightening of the sky wasn’t caused by any sun or flame he looked out the windows of the bar they were in to find rolling fields that looked completely out of place. He was about to start asking questions about the afterlife in general when the door burst open and a short woman walked in with confidence not expected facing a rowdy tavern full of soldiers.

“Out.” She ordered and as one the soldiers put down their darts and drinks and filed out of the door leaving Alexander and his small group of friends. “Alexander Hamilton, the pleasantries are over, welcome to death,” the woman said lightly and Washington clapped him on the shoulder again, propelling him forward to stand alone in front of her, feeling instantly smaller as her hard gaze swept over him.

“Am I to presume you’re God?” He asked, surprised by the wide and bright smile he was favoured with, subtly he reached behind to steady himself against the nearest table, distantly hearing footsteps behind him.

“Indeed! Now that I’ve got a couple of key players I think I can start judgement, yes?” She asked.

“Uh, sure?” Alexander did not squeak, but it was a very close thing, there were more people behind him now but he couldn’t tear his eyes away to see who.

“I think you ought to know I don’t really keep up with each individual human soul anymore, there’s just so many of you and it’s so much more fun to see what you can do by yourselves, and you! The Revolutionaries, perhaps not as unprecedented as thought but certainly something rare. You all did some amazing things,” God waved her hands around as she spoke, inspecting the others behind Alexander.

“Made some amazing mistakes too,” Alexander agreed, thinking of his time with Maria when he should have been with his wife.

“Those too. I don’t mind mistakes though, after all, it’s not like I make you infallible or anything. So! I’ve an offer, something I try to offer every group of people who impress me and I think there’s enough of you here to start. How would you like another turn at life? Not the one you just finished, a new one in a different time, some similarities, some differences, see if you can be amazing again?”

“Do we have to agree for everyone? Who, precisely, is in the group? Because if I get stuck with Jefferson and Adams again I will not be held responsible for my actions,” Alexander warned, instantly annoyed just thinking about them.

“I’m game!” John called from the back. “I didn’t get a long life and I’ve learned a lot about myself here, I’d love another go,” He defended when everyone turned to stare at him.

“I think I will pass, I cannot bear a long life, nor can I bear to leave my son early again,” Rachael, his mum said.

“I cannot list the people I am considering, they will not all be friends because sometimes you humans are defined by your opposition, nor will all of them be directly tied to your life Alexander. You can wait here and see who else agrees, if they ask I can tell them who has agreed, but not who has refused,” God explained and Alexander considered his options.

“How similar will my childhood be?” He asked softly.

“Similar enough to shape you but not enough to hold you back unless you allow it to,” God assured and Alexander nodded. “I’m afraid you can’t keep your names, but I’ll go for something similar.”

“I’m in.”

“In that case, I will see you when you next arrive, I cannot go,” Washington declared. “I’ll watch though, perhaps if I yell loud enough you will think before foolishly challenging people to duels,” he gave them a stern look that had John looking sheepish.

“Alright, off we go,” God announced and before Alexander could even see who else had joined them the bar faded out.


	2. Gotta Be More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: vague mentions of child slavery and a brief mention of suicide.

Awareness came slowly. There were shapes and colours and a growing sense that he’d forgotten something, that he was more. Alexander Faucette was no ordinary kid, he taught himself to read with an old Bible at two and a half, then taught himself to write using the same bible at three and a half. At four he was officially recognised as incorrigible, at least he wasn’t out causing trouble, his mother defended, but a boy on a quest for books could still start trouble.

For books lead to knowing things and forming opinions and Alexander was never one to curb his tongue, even when an American tourist with a steel-toed boot suggested he give it a try. Thus he came home with scrapes and bruises from tussles with his friends, rivals, tourists, and even locals who thought themselves intelligent. Because no one was intelligent enough to keep up with Alexander.

His mum tried though. She worked hard though, to buy him food, clothes, and books, there was always work for someone willing to suffer long shifts for not enough money and with three mouths to feed Grace had little choice. Honest work could be hard to come by in their area, but Haiti could rely on tourism, and as cook, cleaner, guide, or receptionist Grace could also rely on tourism. She tried not to know that her boys picked the pockets of tourists, she had no intention of raising criminals but she also couldn’t bear to rebuke them when their ‘adventures’ allowed them to buy themselves little treats.

Alexander felt somewhat bad about stealing, more often than not he was able to convince tourists to give him some coins with nothing but his words. With no access to school he had little else to do with his day but charm tourists out of money or food and run errands for whoever was willing to pay him a little for whatever they needed done. As often as possible he travelled to the bigger cities to buy whatever dusty old books he could, and maybe some notebooks. So his life was incredibly full.

Something was missing though.

 

That something finally clicked during a bad season of storms. Haiti, like most islands in the area, was no stranger to devastating storms and the locals were well accustomed to the myriad of small disasters that came with seasonal storms. Life tended to go on just as it had on Nevis. Then again, this was a particularly bad string of storms, hard hitting with little time between them it felt like half of each week was preparing for a storm, a day of cowering, and then half a week repairing everything. May allowed some warm up, June to August seemed to be one long storm with the occasional hurricane.

It was September and Alexander was attempting to keep himself upright in the queue at a foreign aide tent, his brother out finding work to keep food coming in, not that Alexander and Grace were eating much at the moment. The world spun and dipped, seeming eerily familiar and Alexander was beckoned up, determination was the only thing keeping him upright, putting one foot in front of the other seemed like too much to ask. He let himself fall, he needed to get more medicine than they would give him, Grace might not be his mother but she was, and he wasn’t going to let her die the same way he’d let Rachael die. 

Flashing a smile at the nurse who caught him before he hit the floor he managed to get feet under himself. Ten minutes later he had detailed instructions and enough medicine for himself and his mother. He might not be a Hamilton anymore but he was still himself, so of course he sent up a prayer to his mother when Grace recovered enough to return to work.

It wasn’t until several weeks later he realised Grace would never fully recover, she went to work exhausted and stumbled home barely staying awake long enough for Alexander to force her to eat before collapsing onto their mattress. James went to live with ‘a friend’ and the last time Alex saw him James had a knife in his boot and wire in his pocket. Whatever James got himself into Alexander didn’t want to know.

Then another hurricane hit, not the first big storm of the year, but the biggest and the only one to hit their area directly. The wind howled while Alexander curled around Grace, his mother, under their mattress in the hopes of not being crushed by anything. The walls seemed to shake constantly and Alexander was pretty sure their little house would not survive, he could only hope it held out long enough to shelter them from the worst of the storm. The entire structure gave another shudder, creaking and groaning and Alexander marvelled that his mother was able to sleep right now. She wasn’t sick, at least, not in any way Alexander could diagnose, just asleep.

Water lashed against the door, a puddle steadily growing on the dirt floor, their last home had been a bit better but with James gone and Grace hardly able to work, well, they were lucky to have a roof still. Or at least, they had been, a particular gust of wind tore the tin right off the top of their house and Alex cursed as water rained down on them. Before he could move the world tilted left and a crushing weight landed on him, that would be the house. 

Alexander wriggled until he and his mother were free of the debris and decided to be grateful that their shitty house had at least not weighed too much. Their old house was much sturdier, being trapped under that might actually be dangerous. With water up to his ankle already Alexander preferred the cold, wet bite of the rain over the potential of slowly drowning, and hey, his mother was awake. 

By evening the sky had settled, patches of stars shining down in mockery of the entire day swallowed up by the angry hurricane that had darkened the sky. Their neighbour’s house still stood, by some minor miracle, and so Alexander guided his mother to a dry rug and curled up with her in the hopes that at least one of them might pass the night warmer than otherwise. In the morning scouring the debris of his house for belongings seemed the least important thing compared to his mother’s cold arm over him and the soft smile showing she at least died with happy thoughts. _Fuck,_ Alex savoured the preferred profanity of American tourists, _perhaps I have a slightly more stable cousin?_ He wondered but the sinking feeling in his gut suggested he was out of luck.

 

Indeed, Alex didn’t appreciate being used to cheat American tourists out of large sums of money in poker games with his cousin’s crew. At least he was able to eat decently, but he didn’t like the way his cousin touched the girls that served snacks and drinks, he didn’t like that he never saw the girls outside of work. There wasn’t really much he liked about this set up, he had his own room for the first time in his life, but he could just tell it was only a matter of time until he was made to pay for it.

Or perhaps not, Alexander thought as he looked up at the body dangling barely more than a foot off the ground. It had been a long day, he’d been caught picking a pocket and gotten a nice beating which thankfully avoided his face, though his ribs ached with every breath. Now this.

“Reverend!” he called at the retreating back of the town’s preacher, a kindly man who organised a lot of community support, in this case he’d walked Alex home and lectured him on stealing and fighting. Alex appreciated the care if not the lecture, and so he figured the man would help him get the body down and sort out burrial details. Waving the man back over he went inside to find a knife and something sufficiently tall to stand on, it was looking like he was doomed to be short again. Finally he was able to climb up as the reverend recovered from the unexpected dead body and moved to help him.

Not even a full year and he was back to being totally alone. As Alexander collected his few belongings and snagged whatever of his cousins might be worth selling the Reverend watched. Finally he spoke up, offering a small room with a mattress in exchange for some help around the church, Alexander wasn’t going to refuse any offer he got unless there was significant pain attached. So he followed the man out of the building and decided to worry about work and money tomorrow, his cousin had enough of worth to last him a few weeks at least.

His cousin’s friends took a little convincing but soon Alex talked his way into controlling the gambling house, and soon he was keeping track of their side business, trade, though not the legally taxed kind. The Reverend never went back on his word, Alex had a mattress in the corner of a small room with wooden floors in exchange for helping with the Church finances, and he was able to pay himself enough for two solid meals a day, and even start a pile of savings. Course, he still read voraciously, only now he beg, borrowed, and stole books, not enough to keep him happy, never enough for such a lofty goal. However there was enough to study on the nights that he couldn’t sleep for the knowing of what slavery had become.

 

2008, Alexander felt like something had to happen. He was sick of being poor, of his dubious income, of watching his back. Okay so he’d read some horror stories of immigration to America in this day and age but he was a founding father, America would work for him no matter their opinions, after all, God gave him this chance to make a change, and he couldn’t change shit from a crime-infested slum that had entirely too much in common with his first life. He'd rather be fighting for political change than fighting to eke out a semi-decent living.

He brought paper and pencils, he needed a plan on how to make something happen. A eloquent article in a paper wouldn’t be enough, if he were lucky he could work for one of the rich families and maybe get somewhere that way, but he had slightly more immediate goals, like schooling. No, anything to write him out of this hell would have to be his best work yet. It would have to be important.

As February turned to March he realised what he could do. He was Alexander Hamilton! Okay so he wasn’t George Washington or Thomas Dickhead Jefferson but he was still a founding father and people were still interested in his writings. So he set himself to remembering how to make parchment, collecting equipment and ingredients he would have had access to on Nevis and began working. It took longer than anticipated and as he made parchment he drafted letters, he couldn’t put anything too shocking in, besides, he wasn’t going to lie. But he could write a few things.

Thirteen or fifty-something Alexander could write a dramatic letter and being thirteen again allowed him to echo earlier teenage agnst. 

By June he was frustrated, his business associates were wanting to export kids after some 'basic training' and guess who they wanted to handle the finances? He could only refuse for so long before they kicked him out, or worse, killed him, sold him, loyalty meant little in these circles and Alexander knew there was little considered off limits. So he stepped up his work with parchment and finally was able to write out the letters he’d decided on, almost a journal, the letters of a boy forced to live as an adult writing to his dead mother.

He’d always had a good memory for written words, and it didn’t take much to mimic his youthful approach, he had matured yes, but he had never outgrown enthusiasm for the written word. He spent way too much money on a trip into the city to scan and send just one of the letters to a few biographers and historians. Now all he needed to do was wait.

 

He was bad at waiting. Though he busied himself with trade and helping clean up after the unending damage of a severe storm season his mind was with that computer and the potential response. He managed to check finally, a trip to the city coincided with decent weather and power enough to check his email account. One guy called Chernow had responded, asking to meet in person and study the documents, Alexander replied with some details of his situation and was forced to return home once more.

Of course this was the cue for particularly bad tropical storm, two full days it worked it’s way over Haiti and a flying tree put a hole in the church’s roof, right over where Alex slept so he was forced to patch it and move for a while. Other’s hadn’t been so lucky and lost their roof entirely, and after only twelve or so hours of respite thunder was heard again and a smaller storm hit. Then another. And another.

Several stormy days and one beautifully not rainy day passed and a hurricane went through, leaving severe flooding that saw the deaths of five of the kids at the gambling house, and quite a few others. Hurricanes were rarely named in Alexander’s original time, when they were named it was after saints, places, occasionally notable people. He found the new trend of naming hurricanes and tropical storms ordinary names somewhat offensive, Fay then Gustav, he could do without the names quite happily, these were not people committing violence, this was nature, something far less personal and far more intimidating. 

After Gustav Hanna struck, barely a whisper in comparison yet so very damaging in the wake of the previous storms. It felt like nature were chipping away at humanity, first time he’d at least only had one serious hurricane to destroy his life upon Nevis. A single storm of destruction and judgement, this was prolonged torture, interrogation where they simply didn’t have any worthwhile information and nature refused to believe them.

Thinking the worst was over everyone settled back down, precautions went lax, but Alexander didn’t trust easily, and he would sooner trust Jefferson to make an intelligent choice on his own than the skies to be so suddenly kind. Then Ike happened. Later he would learn it was a category four and not particularly remarkable in any way, shape, or form, completely run of the mill even if it was bad. At the time it was much worse. The church collapsed, half the town collapsed, what buildings stood were heavily damaged, worst of all was the clear line there was little as awful (in every sense of the word) as seeing the direct path of a hurricane and seeing where once a beautiful church, and home, had stood was now little more than dirt and debris.

Alexander was surprised to see emergency relief efforts arrive over the next few days as he helped people clean in exchange for a dry and safe place to sleep the night. After a few days of pulling bodies from under buildings and fixing what buildings were still standing one of the church-group ladies offered him a bed with their group. Having no other option for the night he agreed pleasantly enough, he was never much a fan of religion, he respected it and having met God he could hardly deny it now, but he found the institution of it to be so false. He really ought have taken a moment of that infinite time to ask God her views on the matter.

The woman asked his help with some of the accounting work, found reasons to require translators, eventually she whispered that if Alexander impressed her friend then _she'd_ be able to arrange for him to join them returning to America. From Alexander’s understanding that was pretty fast which suggested some impressive connections, so he spoke to the woman, Virginian which did not improve his opinion of her, but then Washington had been a Virginian so perhaps the state wasn’t totally irredeemable. 

Within two days he was set to leave with her, fostered into a family he knew little more than the names of. Louise and Daniel King and their six year old daughter Deborah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm probably going to have the Miranda's foster Alexander eventually, but this next chapter is going to be the King's and subsequent houses, remembering that Alex is a little shit who forged letters by himself and may or may not get found out.


	3. The King's

America is not at all what he remembered. Of course it isn’t, Alexander is no fool and he understands that over two hundred years is bound to twist and shape a country to be nigh unrecognisable, and yet, he is shocked. Not at the technology, though that still holds some level of wonder, not at the stupid and accepting masses as they have always been so, not even at the hypocrisy because that sure as shit has never changed, not really. No, what shocks him is how much it all is. 

America in his time had been a sliver of what it is now, even suburban Virginia is a shock of veritable mansions filled with wonders, wide, regulated roads with comfortable and fast transport, enough food to make him queasy just thinking about the waste. He thought he’d acclimated well to this twenty-first century, he’d read so many books and seen shows, seen bits and pieces of this back in Haiti, but now there were not words. His room was as big as his house with his first mother Rachel had been, and he shared a bathroom with a second guest bedroom. 

The King’s were very understanding, they served ‘full’ meals to him and whatever he wasn’t able to eat was either stored for lunch the next day or given to the dog, a placid elderly Labrador who was getting pretty fat in Alexander’s opinion. They brought him a whole new wardrobe mostly from thrift shops since Alex had something of a panic attack upon seeing the price of regular clothing and spent three days researching the current economics of his country so he could work out why the prices just didn’t seem right. The answer was unsurprising though incredibly disheartening, slave labour rebranded now with less personal responsibility! Second-hand made him feel better, and often the shops were owned by individuals supporting their family which was much better than the inevitable millionaire benefitting from the new shops.

 

Being not long after the start of the academic year he was able to slide casually into a grade eight class which felt insanely basic. At first he did his best to keep his head down and make the most of the overly religious atmosphere, he might be everything these people hated but it’s not like he was looking for a close and loving family. He accepted the law as requiring him to have a guardian for a few more years, but that just meant he could accept their charity without guilt.

Burr would be proud of him, he didn’t correct a single person in his first month of school, even though he heard some atrociously stupid things coming out of the mouths of adults, teens he could excuse. The King’s were against vaccinations and Alexander seriously had to bite his lip to prevent the rant building within him, in his time vaccination had been significantly risky and yet they’d still braved it, the results were worth the risk. At least the King’s, with all their wrong views supplied plenty of paper and access to a computer where Alexander could write his rants against them out in essay form and save them for when it was safe to speak. 

Access to the biggest library he’d ever seen did wonders for his mental health too. His strict curfew allowed little time for leisurely study but he was swiftly armed with a library card and grew immune to the librarians doubtful and irritated faces at his selections. It wasn’t until they told his foster family just what he was reading that this started to go downhill. First, Daniel insisted on approving his reading choices and not a single book Alexander picked was deemed appropriate. 

Science was first to go, Alexander’s interest had been piqued by the more debated scientific fields, vaccinations, climate change, psychology as a start. The King’s believed positive thinking could cure depression, anxiety was a juvenile attention seeking behaviour, climate change was fiction invented by hippies, and vaccinations caused autism and worse. History was also not approved of, on the grounds of it being ‘totally useless’, and law was rejected for being ‘irrelevant’ at which point Alexander gave up even trying and just read what he could at the library without borrowing anything.

Along with the limited reading options his computer time was now monitored leaving him unable to type up his essays, research anything interesting, or even check for a response from Chernow. With only pen and paper to vent his opinions and combat the beliefs of the King’s he was slowly going insane but he held out as long as possible, he had food, a bed, and they hadn’t tried to read his notebooks yet.

Until they did.

 

Alexander came home from school to find his notebooks scattered across the dining room table, and his hand immediately checked the USB he kept on his person at all times with most of the essays backed up. It was only the newest ones he hadn’t been able to type up on a school computer yet that were at risk and he could live without them, they weren’t his best work by a long shot and were mostly repetition’s of earlier work. Though that one line he’d managed last night, and he’d phrased his argument really well in the one before that... Okay, this was grounds for a duel, or at least a good fight.

“Alexander, good, you’re home. Louise and I wanted to talk to you about some of the disturbing views you’ve been writing about, she’s taken Debbie out so we can talk privately though,” Daniel greeted him jovially and Alexander decided to go with the mood, maybe he could get out of this just fine?

“Ah, sorry sir, I’ve been trying to research the matters and writing is my way of understanding various arguments,” he said slowly, maybe if he played them off as devil’s advocating? It would require implying agreement which he wasn’t sure he could manage, but his five months in America had taught him that the foster care system would be terrible and well worth avoiding.

“We’re just concerned by the harsh language,” had he sworn somewhere and forgotten? “the general views, and the lack of equality in your essays.” Daniel gestured to the table and Alexander sat carefully. “There’s no diversity, all of these follow a singular line of thought,” Daniel said and Alex hummed.

“As I said, it’s how I study, I just want to take the opportunity you’ve both offered me and do my best, I thought if I studied-“ Alex began but shut his mouth at the glare, he hadn’t known Daniel could glare.

“These essays are your views,” Daniel asserted and there wasn’t really room to argue. Alex nodded.

“I won’t publish any of my essays while I live here, I can keep my views to myself so no one connects them to you,” Alex offered, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t desperate. Daniel sneered and ripped one of his notebooks in half while Alex watched without reacting, whatever Daniel wanted Alexander wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You disrespect us, we brought you out of that hellish place, gave you clothes and food and a warm bed, and this is how you repay us? By supporting the lies and slander of those who stand against us? By accusing us of abusing our precious daughter by opting out of vaccination wherever possible? You think we would let you poison this household longer than necessary?” Daniel yelled and Alex stood up.

“I’ll go pack my things then,” Alex nodded, biting his lip to stop himself fighting back with words, there was no point. No point. Dammit but he had a point, he had so many points, but five months of listening to Daniel’s Sunday sermons and Alexander knew the man would never listen. Not to reason, not to emotion, nothing would change his mind. 

“Damn right you will! I’ve called the social worker, she’ll be here in an hour and I expect you to be ready to go then,” Daniel gathered the books. “I’ll burn these, and pray for your soul, but I can’t have you in the same house as my daughter,” he promised and Alex glared but went to the room they’d given him.

After punching the bed a few times he stuffed his backpack full of essentials, then found a plastic bag to fill with everything else. He wasn’t going to leave anything behind, screw this family anyway, if they wanted to be backwards idiots then there was nothing Alexander could do. Contrary to popular belief he had learned in his first life that some people would hold their stupid views no matter how eloquent, simple, and/or factual of an argument they were presented with, and that has certainly never changed. Virginia was going to give him ulcers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In any modern adoption fic the King's have to appear, and be some variation of horrid. The library ban was kind of representing the early lead up to fighting, in my head at least. Anyway, I am an excellent combination of sick and getting more work very suddenly so the next chapter might take another week, but I swear I'm not abandoning. Just a bit slower than I usually am.


	4. Fostor home #2 and #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mention of unintentional suicide.  
> Also Alexander Hamilton is 100% not going to have sex with anyone until he finds his wife again and Martha is not a reincarnation of anyone, just a genuinely good woman. Hamilton has an adult mind which affords him some perspective on the bad homes, but they still, as the modern kids say, suck.

Martha, his case worker, was a lovely lady who reminded Alexander of his wife in many ways. She listened to the inevitable rant against the stupidity of the King’s and said she was proud of him trying to make it work despite their different views. She promised to make sure his file showed there was a personality conflict and he’d done everything he could to make things work but the foster father hadn’t been willing to, it was a note few would read but he appreciated the moment’s effort that making it took. 

She was much more involved with his second placement. Having never really been through the system with the King’s she explained everything, he was what she called a ‘sympathy case’ which would work in his favour since few people wanted to foster teenage boys long term, but his tragic past, impressive test scores from school, and general appearance would combine to open up some of the better homes so long as he could avoid fights and such. He didn’t like being a sympathy case, but he appreciated her honesty and that she was willing to put some work into finding him a long term placement rather than bouncing him from one dodgy house to another for the next few years.

 

The second family were one of the best according to Martha. The McGuire mother was a qualified teacher though she home schooled the four to six kids, the foster father was a medical specialist of some kind. They had two biological kids who were ten and fifteen, and two foster kids who were ten, twelve, and then Alex was recently fourteen. Alexander was hesitant to be so confident in the home, he’d noticed something not quite right about the foster mother but after a few weeks he couldn’t name a problem so he let it go from his mind.

Home school was excellent, twice a week they went to the local library and so long as they borrowed one fiction, one history, and one science book a week they could take whatever they wanted. Alex wasn’t a huge fiction reader, but when he explained he simply had no idea where to start she’d made a list for him to pull from. The list contained the ‘classics’ of various genres and most of them weren’t too bad. He appreciated the chance to catch up on the ‘popular culture’ of the time since Homer wasn’t very popular anymore, still, he preferred to catch up oh history, law, and economics.

Everyone was in groups too. Between five kids with a lot of time on their hands there were a lot of classes and teams. Hamilton joined debate, and after prompting he agreed to a ballroom dancing class for ‘exercise’ since he refused the team sports. Sometimes a neighbour would keep an eye on them while others were off at clubs and classes, and occasionally they were left alone, but usually they all had somewhere to be. Food wasn’t quite as unlimited as at the King’s, but everyone still had enough, and all the boys had to share a bedroom as did the three girls, though the rooms were big enough to accommodate everyone without being claustrophobic. 

Of course, all good things come to an end and Alex was the one who went to wake Hazel one morning when it had hit ten without any sign of her. She tended to be up at six every morning, so by ten everyone was concerned. Taking one look in the room he sighed and went to look for a pulse, finding none he left the room and ordered the other kids to play out in the yard, they pestered him but he said she was sick and he was going to call for help. He called 911 and informed them his foster mother was dead, probably had something to do with the drawer of pills next to her bed. 

 

Martha was his second call and she arrived before the police, which was probably good since Alex had no idea how to gently break this sort of news to people, or how to comfort kids. Oh sure he’d managed with his own children, but he always followed his wife’s lead in that matter, he learned that his approach was somewhat unusual and probably best not passed on to his children. So Martha looked after the kids while Alexander waited for everyone to arrive and directed them up to the bedroom, then he began packing a bag for everyone. The biological kids would have the chance to come back since a grandparent collected them, but the foster kids he packed as much as he could, anything left behind would probably be lost.

“How are you coping young man?” Martha asked once they were seated in her car, Alex had insisted on waiting for all the others to be collected so it was getting pretty late in the day.

“Disappointed and a little sad, but I’m more concerned about the next home,” Alex answered truthfully. He couldn’t muster anything as strong as heartbreak for someone he’d known for barely six weeks nor could he claim devastation at finding the body, it was hardly his first, he’d been in hurricanes and a war after all, he was sad, yes, but he’d be concerned when the loss of human life didn’t sadden him just a little.

“You found the body?” She checked seeming disbelievingly.

“Yes ma’am. I don’t think she meant to kill herself though, I think she was self-medicating and accidentally took too many or something, she wouldn’t have willingly left her children no matter how much she was struggling,” Alexander mused, he’d researched self-medication while waiting for the police to clear them to leave, now that he knew what she was doing everything made much more sense and he felt bad for not realising sooner.

“Alexander, this isn’t the first body you’ve found, is it?” She asked softly and Alex shrugged, wondering how she’d decided that, part of him perked up at the potential fight but he stamped it down with what little self-control he possessed. 

“My cousin hung himself,” Alexander offered but for once kept his reply short. She could deduce that he’d helped clean up after big storms and found the occasional body that way, honestly, thinking of all the people he’d found dead in his lives was exhausting, and depressing. “Do you have a new home for me yet?”

“No, sorry, you’ll have to spend a few days in a group home, don’t worry, there’s a place nearby that has a dorm for those who just need a bed between placements,” She assured and Alexander shrugged, so long as there was a bed, food, and no one hit him he was happy enough.

 

The group home was not the worst place Alexander had ever stayed, the food was a type of unidentifiable bland mush he reluctantly recalled from his war days. Six to a room wasn’t really the kind of numbers he liked but again, he’d shared with the other aid-de-camps during the war so this wasn’t that bad, there were enough lumpy beds at least. He was the oldest in the room which gave him some authority, his quick reflexes were enough to stave off any attempts to take what few possessions were of any worth. He couldn’t wait to be out.

Three days wasn’t too long, really, three days and Hamilton was standing in front of another house with Martha’s hand on his shoulder. She was fidgeting a bit more, but then she’d already explained that these people were first time foster parents, and what that meant. They could be great, or they could be terrible, more than likely they’d be a bit awkward but decent. This was why his wife had been an absolute angel and started an orphanage, if only he could go wring the necks of every person who dared corrupt that system.

Mr and Mrs Smith seemed as boring as their name implied. Mrs Smith worked in early childhood care, and Mr Smith was an accountant, they weren’t looking to adopt and Mrs Smith didn’t really want a young child given she worked with them. So they ended up with Alexander, a boy who could be mostly independent if they were slack, and would inform Martha if they were over-zealous. It was probably the best option for everyone, and Alexander was happy that he was the one entering an entirely unknown situation instead of an innocent, or already abused child.

As far as Alexander cared they passed what he was calling the ‘first day test’ which was they greeted him like an adult, showed him to his room which was decent, gave a little tour and talked a little about their life. Then they left him alone until dinner. When he emerged there was a portion approximately equal to their own on his plate and they smiled when he thanked them and offered to do the dishes.

After dinner they went to watch TV and he asked if he could use their computer to do some research and they didn’t press the issue at all. Just in case they checked the browser history he kept his searches tame. He decided to catch up on some history, researching England since his death in a depth that would likely earn him questions if they looked. He also took the chance to have a quick peak through their favourites and some of their files, not going as far as opening things, just getting a feel for who he was with. Nothing stood out as dangerous, but then that just meant if they were of dishonourable intent they were smart about it.

With no reason to be suspicious he finished up his research and asked what time he ought be up in the morning if he wanted breakfast, six-thirty seemed early but he rose with the sun usually so he would be up. Saying a polite goodnight he went up to his room, and having learned from others in the group home he attached a bell on a string to the door. Confident he’d wake up if anyone tried to enter he changed and made himself comfortable.

 

By the end of the week he was almost confident the Smith’s were exactly as boring as they seemed, they rose early which suited him, and while they had some odd rules, like not taking food outside of meals, they were reasonable enough. They sent him to a local state school within walking distance, and brought him some thrifted clothes to make up for what he’d lost along the way. He still wasn’t able to arrange a meeting with Chernow to show him the forged letters but the man wasn’t growing too impatient with him. Was it wrong to string the man along with the papers in case he needed someone he could bribe into acting guardian for him for a few years? Yes. Did Alexander allow himself to feel guilty for it? Absolutely. Until a home was safe and with some promise of lasting he would not hand the papers over, but he was doing everything in his power to make each home last.

Alexander’s first warning that this family was secretly shitty was that even after two weeks in the house the rules kept piling up, as did the chores. He put washing on, cooked breakfast and washed the dishes before school, then he came home and had a list of chores to do usually including a recipe for dinner. Martha had promised to check in at the end of the month but if they were looking for an excuse to punish him that might be too far away.

The first missed meal didn’t hurt much, for all he was used to regular meals he was also intimately familiar with hunger and a single missed meal was more an annoyance than serious punishment. The first hit was similarly ignored, it had barely left a bruise and Alexander wasn’t going to go running to Martha over something so small. He knew it was wrong but he also knew that short placements looked bad for him, if this was the worst they had to offer then he could take it quietly and stay for a few months at least.

After a few more weeks of being slapped about increasingly often Alexander knew this wouldn't last long, not only was Mr Smith getting bolder, and starting to deliver what Alexander felt could rightfully be called light beatings, but Mrs Smith was urging her husband to withhold food more and more often. Not quite enough for anyone to notice the effects, but enough that Alexander would lose weight, maybe get a bruise somewhere hard to hide, Martha was going to notice. Still, he needed a way to reveal this without upsetting Martha too much, so it needed to look like a one off thing, while having enough reason to blacklist them, actual children wouldn't do too well here.

 

Before Alexander could make a decision Mr Smith made it for him. A simple backhand sent Alexander tumbling down the stairs, the cruel smile suggesting that had been the goal. Groaning and mentally cursing Alexander forced himself to his feet despite what was probably a broken arm, biting his tongue to keep himself from saying anything he waited for Mr Smith to come down and drive a knee into his stomach, causing him to puke up everything he’d eaten that day.

“Clean it up and get up to your room, I don’t want to see your pathetic face again tonight,” Mr Smith turned and walked toward the kitchen leaving Alexander to grab the house phone and make his way up to his room. They weren’t the smartest family, he’d already worked out at least three ways to use what was in his room to prevent them entering, and he took a deep breath before using his good arm and knees to push the bed a few inches to sit in front of the door. Flopping onto the bed he dialled the phone and investigated his arm, turning his jumper into a sling while he waited for Martha to pick up.

“He broke my arm, I barricaded myself in one of the rooms, I might need a new placement,” Alexander greeted her and she just sighed.

“This Alexander, this is why you report every little thing, at the very least they know I’m watching!” She scolded and he groaned.

“I just didn’t want another short placement on my record, it’s starting to look pretty bad, I figured I could take it. I’m sorry, they’re like those parents in that book you made me read, Harry Potter. Work, work, work, verbal abuse, and a few slaps.” He gave up on his idea of a sling and just cradled his arm to his chest, the clothing from his first life was much better suited to temporary first aide usage. 

Martha kept talking to him, somehow getting him to admit he’d read all seven books already and held very strong opinions on the treatment of Slytherin’s in the book. He was almost certainly a Slytherin with a little Gryffindor in his younger days, and he didn’t appreciate being lumped with the likes of the Malfoy’s who lacked most if not all Slytherin traits. Why, if you followed that logic Jefferson would have been a Slytherin because he was rich, didn’t even realise how discriminatory and pampered he was, and had lofty ideals. Jefferson, in Hamilton’s opinion was the worst kind of Ravenclaw, though honestly he’d have gone to the French school and constantly remarked upon the inferiority of Hogwarts. Actually, Hamilton wouldn't have had the opportunity to attend any wizarding school, but that was getting way too in depth.

He soon discovered the flaw in his plan, as police were dealing with the Smith’s Alexander had to move the bed again to let paramedics in to see him. If he cried a little there was no one to know.


End file.
